Shining or Otherwise
by hiding duh
Summary: Nathan/Claire. She'd like to help him out of that armor.


Not as wrong as I expected. Happy Easter?

**Title**: Shining or Otherwise  
**Fandom**: Heroes  
**Characters/Pairings**: Nathan/Claire  
**Summary**: She'd like to help him out of that armor.  
**Rating**: PG-13  
**Spoilers**: Through 3x21  
**Word Count**: 1500  
**Notes**: For **kathrynthegr8**. Enabler! Shun! Shuuun the enabler!

* * *

Petrellis are beautiful.

Claire should feel weird thinking that, since she kinda is one. Technically.

Angela and Peter are all sharp angles and dark hair. Monty and Simon are soft curls and warm eyes. Nathan and Claire are...

Well. She doesn't know if they even remotely resemble each other.

"And I give you upgrade to... eh... big la cama for you and your señorita, sí?" the clerk leers, bushy eyebrows twitching suggestively.

...so. No. No, they don't look related.

"She's my—" Nathan begins, then trails off. He sighs a little and slaps down a hundred dollar bill. "King-size is fine. Gracias."

Claire likes Mexico.

She's picking up Spanish. And a tan. She can drink the water and not die. She keeps getting mistaken for a teenage escort. It's pretty awesome. Except for that last part.

"We should probably mention the whole... incest-o thing," she tells Nathan as his fingers wrap around a set of rusted keys. "Maybe they'll stop overcharging us."

"That's the actual word," he smirks, pushing his sunglasses up his nose.

Why is she smiling? She doesn't want to be smiling. She doesn't want to know how to say incest in Spanish. Or any other language.

So she clears her throat and falls into step next to him, sliding her hands in her back pockets and stretching awkwardly. "So... should we try calling Angela again?"

Nathan's steps are long, calculated. He glances at the key, then scans the narrow hallway. "This way."

"Hey, I asked you a question," she frowns. "You're not very good at listening."

He takes off his sunglasses, pushes the key in, twists hard, and opens the door without glancing at her. "I'm not good at a lot of things, Claire."

Why is she staring at his hands? She seriously doesn't want to stare at any part of him. She should be able to stop. Yes. She'll do that. Stop staring.

She pushes past him, taking in the room. "Hey, upgrade. Only one cockroach."

He scoffs behind her. "His friends are probably waiting in the bathroom."

Lovely.

"Okay, be back in a few," she grins and heads for the door. She's going to go buy or borrow or steal some insecticide. She's probably going to pick up some peanuts, too. Not for Nathan, of course.

"Stay."

The hair on the back of her neck stands up. "What?"

Nathan loosens his tie, casually inspecting the bed. "I'm old. I can't keep drinking college boys under the table every night. That's where I'm assuming you're off to?"

Her lips curl. "Technically, _I_ drank those g—" His eyes are sharp, but she doesn't look away. "I'm just gonna go grab something to get rid of the mini-Sylars."

There's a small table in one of the corners; three legs of different lengths and a charred round top. Nathan straddles one of the mismatched chairs and unbuttons his suit jacket.

"I can protect you from cockroaches, Claire," he says. "I can do that, at least."

"Are you sure you're not drunk?" she asks, eyes narrowed.

His eyes crinkle at the corners. "You know how to play poker?"

"No," she lies.

He leans his elbows on the table. "Maybe there's a pack of cards in one of the drawers."

Well. There's a _bible_ in one of the drawers. She doesn't know why that makes her uncomfortable. Besides, it's probably in Spanish and she doesn't speak Spanish. Except for a couple words. Like incesto. She's pretty sure that one's usually next to wrong-o.

"There's half a pack?" she reports, back stiff.

"We'll make do," Nathan murmurs.

Claire shrugs, tosses the cards on the table, then takes a seat opposite her father. Her other father. Her biological father.

"Cut," he says.

Her fingers reach for the deck automatically.

He scrutinizes her for a moment, expression unreadable. "You know how to play."

She tries to keep her face neutral, but her voice is sheepish. "My dad taught me."

Nathan deals her a hand. The cards are tattered at the ends, dirty, kinda sticky.

"There aren't many things I can teach you that he hasn't taught you already," he says nonchalantly.

His words don't sound like an apology. They sound dirty.

"I'm sorry," she mumbles, more to herself. "He's always going to be my real dad. I can't—I don't _want_ to change that."

"I know."

Two of her cards are stained and she switches them out for an ace and a five.

Nathan looks at her over his cards. He leans forward, lips forming a thin line.

She doesn't see a resemblance. Eye color, hair color, eyebrows, cheeks, jaw, nose. Nothing matches. She looks more like Lyle than Monty or Simon.

These are not excuses. They're not. She's not coming up with freakin' excuses, okay.

"One pair," she grins, spreads her cards on the table, and glances at him expectantly.

He pauses for a moment. "What are we playing for, Claire?"

Her stomach twists. "Um, what?"

"Money, pretzels, cigarettes?"

"We have none of those things," she counters with a sigh. "What do you want to play for?"

He takes another unnecessary pause, the corners of his lips quirking. "The bed."

She raises a haughty eyebrow. She suspects they have that in common, at least. "No. My turn to get the bed."

"Three of a kind," he smiles, eyes dark.

Claire purses her lips, gathering the cards. "I'll deal this time."

"I don't cheat, Claire," he grins, watching her shuffle.

She should say _yeah, right_ or _whatever, cheater_, but instead, she slides a card toward him. Their fingers meet briefly.

Even with only half a deck, she knows how to do this. "Full house."

Nathan's eyes soften with poorly concealed pride. "Four of a kind."

She slumps across the table with a tiny whine. "Fine, take the bed."

He rises, cracks his neck, and tosses his suit jacket at the chair. "I'll take the sofa."

She looks up, puffing her bangs out of her eyes. "You won the bed fair and—" There's that smile again. "You cheated better than I did."

He's smiling, too. It's sort of beautiful.

"I seem to enjoy taking things away from you, Claire," he murmurs, turning to look at her. "Just so I can return them. Be your hero."

Her chest constricts painfully. There's a crack in his armor and it's spelling out her name. "We can share."

Brows furrowed, Nathan blinks. "I don't think we can."

"I don't hog the blankets," she offers.

He hesitates, then squares his shoulders. "No."

She stands up, grinning. "I'll play you for it."

He tilts his head, amused. "Maybe you should consider a career in politics."

Claire scrunches up her nose, sticking her hand out. "No. One, two, three—"

"Paper beats scissors," Nathan announces, palm outstretched.

She won't even bother correcting him. She'll just push him onto the bed. That's a Petrelli thing, right? And she kinda is one. So.

Nathan's back hits the mattress with a soft thump. He doesn't move for a long moment, then slowly scoots up and takes off his shoes. "I should be drunk for this."

Claire secretly agrees. "Get some sleep," she says, plopping down on the bed next to him. "Knowing Angela, she'll probably make us dig up an old Indian graveyard or something."

His chest rises slowly, falls slowly, but she suspects his heart is pounding. Or maybe that's just hers. Maybe she's the only one that finds this strange. After all, she's had her arms wrapped around him for the better part of a week. This can't be worse than that. They're not even touching. The bed is huge. They never have to touch.

So. She'll just stare at the dirty walls. Toe off her sneakers. Listen to him breathe. Inch her hand across the coverlet and twine her fingers with his.

He squeezes back.

She tries not to grin at the ceiling.

There. Peter and Angela can have their dark eyes and groomed eyebrows and perfect hair. And Simon and Monty can have their round cheeks and long eyelashes and button noses. Claire and Nathan have this. They have Mexico and a bed and a silent understanding.

"Night, Claire."

She'd like to ask him a ton of things. But the way he's holding her hand is pretty much all the answer she needs. So instead, she turns her head and grins playfully:

"You know it's only 5 PM, right?"

"...I'll get the cards."


End file.
